


Unbeing dead isn't being alive

by forestgreen



Category: Supernatural, The Vampire Diaires
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestgreen/pseuds/forestgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are called to investigate mysterious disappearances in a small town called Mystic Falls, but not all is what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbeing dead isn't being alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> This story is set after episode 6, season 6 of Supernatural (Live free or Twi-hard) and episode 6, season 2 of The Vampire Diaries (Plan B).
> 
> I want to thank **ariadnes_string** and **daroos** for their beta-work. This story wouldn't be the same without them. All remaining mistakes are probably due to my own stubbornness.

"We have a new case," Sam said the moment Dean entered their motel room. He was already gathering their things and throwing them onto the bed.

Dean stopped in his tracks, watching Sam carefully. He couldn't help the sense of foreboding that filled him. He didn't trust Sam any longer. For the hundredth time Dean thought about leaving. He could hunt alone, forget Sam, the Campbells and whatever crazy plans they were cooking up together. Still, Dean could no more leave Sam now than he could before.

Sam had died saving mankind; he had gone to hell to stop the apocalypse. Dean could not, would not, repay that by abandoning him, even if it meant having to watch out not just for their enemies but for Sam, too.

"What case?" Dean asked warily.

"Samuel called; an old family friend of the Campbells contacted him," Sam said. "Some town called Mystic Falls in Virginia. Mrs. Lockwood wouldn't tell him over the phone, but Samuel is sure that it's vampire trouble. The town is known for it apparently." Sam scrutinized Dean's reaction.

Dean's heart skipped a beat. He fought off the memories assaulting him: the hunger, the desperation, the fear. "Vampires," he repeated in a choked voice, throat suddenly dry. He gave Sam a wan smile. "And here I thought we were done with those."

Sam zipped his bag closed and looked up at Dean, a curious, blank expression on his face, as if he couldn't quite grasp what Dean's problem was. Dean was starting to suspect that maybe he couldn't. Whatever had happened with his brother in hell, it had changed him, and not for the better.

"You said it yourself, Dean," Sam said. "There are more out there and they are increasing their numbers." Sam shrugged. "Besides, it might not be vampires at all. When he asked, Mrs. Lockwood denied it, but Samuel wanted us to keep our eyes open just in case."

"Don't we always?" Dean said, pushing down the desire to call Sam on his lies. He'd have plenty of opportunities for that later.

* * *

"Welcome to Mystic Falls." Mrs. Lockwood opened the door of her manor-like house, smiling like a fifties housewife — it creeped Dean out.

He gave her his best boy-next-door shy grin nonetheless and entered. Dean took in the room and the decor, automatically mapping possible exits and hiding places. He whistled in admiration. "This sure beats the small towns we usually visit," he murmured.

Sam rolled his eyes, probably bitching about Dean's lack of manners or something. He grinned at Mrs. Lockwood and extended his hand. "Hi, we're Samuel's grandchildren. He sent us," Sam said, always the polite one. "I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean." He waved at Dean with a vague gesture.

Mrs. Lockwood laughed flirtatiously, giving Dean and Sam both a once over. Her gaze lingered on Sam's chest and hips, before they traveled farther down. When she met their eyes again, she seemed flushed and distracted.

Dean's bad feeling about the whole case increased. When women took an interest in Sam they were either evil or soon-to-be-dead. It never ended well.

"I'm Carol Lockwood, but please call me Carol." She indicated that they should sit down and placed a carafe of iced tea next to them. She poured each of them a cup of tea. "It's a family recipe. We use a bit of vervain to give the tea that extra something," she said with a wink.

Dean took the proffered cup with fake cheerfulness. "Thank you," he said with a strained smile and added three spoons of sugar, hoping it would disguise the taste.

Sam's smile was much more sincere and so were his thanks. The little bitch probably liked the stuff.

"I'm so glad that Samuel sent you," Mrs. Lockwood said, taking a seat in front of them. "He spoke highly of you."

Sam flushed slightly and dipped his head, feigning embarrassment. "He's our grandfather," he said as if that explained everything.

"How did the two of you meet anyway?" Dean asked. As far as he was concerned Samuel Campbell was just some dead guy who shouldn't be alive to begin with. Sam's filial attitude towards him rubbed Dean wrong. Hell, half the time Sam couldn't have been fucked to obey their own father. Why the sudden change?

"He visited Mystic Falls about thirty years ago, maybe a bit longer than that," Carol Lockwood said. "He helped the town council with a little problem we had."

"Vampires," Dean said, watching out for her reaction.

Mrs. Lockwood's eyebrows rose, and her face froze for an instant before she recovered. She laughed nervously, looking around as if to check that no one else could hear what Dean had just said. "No, of course not. Vampires," she huffed. "How did you come to that idea? It was a ghost."

"I see," Sam said. "Samuel didn't give us too many details about it. You are aware that you have vampires in town, though, right?"

"What makes you say that?" Mrs. Lockwood asked, visibly agitated.

"We did a background check on the city before we came," Sam told her. "To the trained eye, all those mysterious attacks by animals with blood loss and no memories of what happened afterwards can only mean one thing."

Mrs. Lockwood sighed, closing her eyes. When she looked up at them again, her expression was strained. "You're right, of course. It's just that the founding families in Mystic Falls have kept the knowledge of vampires a secret for a many centuries." In a low voice she added, "I forgot that there are people outside the Council who also know the truth."

"I understand." Sam nodded and inched forward, smiling winningly at her. "Is this another vampire situation?" He sounded too eager for Dean's comfort.

"No, no," Mrs. Lockwood said. "We know how to deal with those ourselves."

"Do you now?" Dean asked, studying her more carefully. She didn't seem like the hunter type to him.

She chuckled. "Well, not me personally, but the Founders Council." Her breath caught for an instant before she continued. "My late husband, Sheriff Forbes and Damon Salvatore came up with a plan that allowed us to get rid of the vampires in town once and for all."

"I'm sorry to hear about your husband," Sam said with fake sincerity. "Are you sure that no other vampires are left?"

Dean glanced away, forcing himself not to tense up. At times like this the chasm separating Sam and him seemed insurmountable.

"Yes, I'm quite sure," Mrs. Lockwood said. "However, we've been having some mysterious disappearances. At first the police thought it was a simple case of runaway teenagers, but the numbers have increased in the last couple of days. We're at a loss as to why." She stood up and paced around the room, twisting her hands. "Since my husband's death I've been acting as _de facto_ major of Mystic Falls. It's my duty to figure out what's going on." She glanced at the stairs for a moment. "My son is a teenager, too. I'm worried that something might happen to him, or to any of the other children. Sheriff Forbes and Damon Salvatore have been adamant that they can solve this on their own, but I just want to make sure that we check all possible venues." She turned to Sam. "I know that there are more things out there than just vampires. Your grandfather implied as much. I need to make sure that it's not something else. Do you think that you can help?"

"We'll do our best," Sam said, using his serious we-are-here-for-you voice.

It was Dean's cue to start asking questions. A part of him relaxed. Their well-rehearsed routine eased some of the coiled tension inside him. "How many disappearances have there been?" he asked.

"Five children are gone. No traces of fight or struggle. They went to bed one night and the next morning they were gone." She sat down again. "Three days ago the fourth child disappeared. That was when I decided to call your grandfather. Panic is starting to set in. People are terrified that their family will be next."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Lockwood," Dean said. "We'll look into it."

"Please, I told you to call me Carol," she reminded Dean.

"Right, of course," Dean said and went on. "Now, I just have some more questions."

* * *

"Sulfur," Dean said, bringing the yellowish powder to his nose and recoiling slightly from the smell.

Sarah Grayson, age sixteen, had been the first person to disappear in Mystic Falls, about five weeks ago. Exactly seven days later the second teenager had followed, and then the pattern kept repeating itself over and over, five times. Other than the traces of sulfur on Sarah's windowsill nothing seemed amiss in her room. Her parents hadn't heard or seen anything suspicious either.

"Demons," Sam said, coming closer to check the evidence himself. The EMF meter whined louder as he approached, further confirming their suspicions. "I had hoped that it might be something different."

"Vampires, I know," Dean said in a flat tone.

"If you have a problem just tell me, Dean." Sam peered at him.

"I don't have a problem," Dean said evenly. "Demons are good, right? We know how to deal with them." They had forced Crowley to give Bobby's soul back; it didn't get higher than that in the demon food chain these days.

"There's been little demonic activity since the apocalypse," Sam said. "I don't like this. They might be planning something."

"What do you mean by _little activity_?" Dean asked.

"Just that. Since my return I've dealt with pretty much everything: werewolves, wendigos, djinns, vampires. You name it; we've probably seen it, but no demons." Sam shrugged. "Samuel thought that after Lucifer's defeat they were too busy fighting with each other to really try anything."

"But now we know that Crowley managed to come out on top," Dean said. "Do you think he's making a move?"

"Maybe. I just don't like it," Sam admitted. "I'll call Bobby and Samuel and let them know what's going on. They might have some ideas."

"Let's check the other houses first," Dean suggested. "We might find some leads. It'd be nice to at least know what kind of demon we're dealing with."

They spent the next four hours going from house to house, talking to the parents and friends of the victims, but no one had seen anything. The houses themselves weren't any help either. Other than faint traces of sulfur, they couldn't find any clues.

"Well, that's the last house." Dean sighed in disappointment, letting the frame of the Impala support his weight. "Another fucking dead-end."

"Let's split up," Sam said. "Talk to the other members of the Council. According to Mrs. Lockwood, the Salvatores and the Gilberts have kept town records for generations. Maybe they can shed some light on what's tying the five families together. We need to find some clues. I'll check the library."

Dean snorted. "In a town this size, I'm sure that everybody is related to everybody one way or the other."

Sam ignored Dean's comment. "If the pattern continues the next kidnapping will take place tomorrow. We need to figure out where they are going to hit next. I'll meet you at the motel in five hours," Sam said and left, not bothering to wait for Dean's answer.

Dean watched his brother go, flabbergasted. He blinked twice, trying to clear his head. Dean swallowed a bitter laugh. When did his baby brother turn into John Winchester? The self-assured way in which Sam issued his orders — because that was what those had been — and decided for both of them what to do next, without stopping to ask for Dean's opinion, was a bitter reminder of what working with John Winchester had been like. It was everything that Dean had wanted when he went in search for Sam, and all that he hadn't needed.

It was ironic in a way. Dean, who had wanted nothing more in life than to be like their father, ended with the girlfriend and the kid and the white picket fence, wanting out of this life, while Sam, who had fought all his youth for an apple-pie, normal life, was becoming a second John Winchester. Dean wondered what his father would think of it all.

Dean shook his head and hopped into his car. The sooner they finished here, the sooner he could be gone from this town. There was something about Mystic Falls that had Dean's hunter instincts in overdrive.

The drive to the Salvatore's boarding house seemed to take forever. Autumn was arriving, painting the trees with color. The forest was still filled with different shades of green, but the first reds, browns and yellows could already be seen. The crisp cold hit Dean's face as he drove, the sound of his old AC/DC tape filling the Impala. Dean listened to the music, moving his head to the beat and singing along. For a moment he could forget his brother, the Campbells, vampires, even his fight with Lisa. Just him, the music, his car and the road.

By the time the drive-in to the boarding house appeared, Dean felt almost like his old self. The house was not as pompous as the Lockwood's mansion had been, but it was just as huge. It screamed old money and better times. Dean wouldn't be surprised if a ghost or two had made this place home. Just to be on the safe side he took out the EMF, but other than the low-key wining beep that seemed to be typical for the whole town nothing was amiss.

Beyond the house the lines of trees stretched as far as the eye could see. For a small town in the middle of nowhere, Mystic Falls sure had some nice digs.

Dean rang the old bell and waited. Some minutes later a tall guy, in his early twenties or late teens, opened the front door.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Hi," Dean said, trying to sound friendly and harmless. His ability to shift between expressions according to the occasion was a bit rusty after a year off the job, but Dean still had it. "My name is Dean Winchester. Mrs. Lockwood sent me. Are you Damon Salvatore?"

"No," the man replied with a guarded mien. "I'm Stefan, his younger brother." He hesitated for a moment, studying Dean carefully. "Please come in," he said at last, stepping back from the door and bellowing his brother's name.

"Stefan, there's no need to shout, I can heard you perfectly," an older man said, coming down the stairs.

So, this was Damon Salvatore, the vampire killer. Dean studied him carefully, taking in the stylish clothes and the suave appearance. He certainly didn't look like a hunter. Too much money. Unless he was the type of hunter that used his knowledge to make a profit, as Bella had.

"You've got a visitor," Stefan said, waving his hand in Dean's general direction. "Mrs. Lockwood sent him." Something in the way he said _Lockwood_ triggered Dean's alarm bells.

"I'm Dean Winchester," Dean said, interrupting the silent communication between the brothers. "I'm here on Council's business." He glanced at Stefan. Mrs. Lockwood had been adamant. She didn't want anyone outside the Council involved in this, especially the younger family members.

"The Founders' Council?" Damon sounded surprised, though he recovered quickly, plastering a blithe smile on his face. "I'm always happy to help the Council in any way I can."

There was something in Salvatore's tone that reminded Dean of himself when he talked to a witness. It was too sincere, too well-meaning, too rehearsed. It would have worked on everybody else. To Dean it was like looking on a mirror.

"Stefan, why don't you leave Mr. Winchester and me alone," Damon addressed his brother. "I don't want to bore you with tiresome Council business."

Stefan narrowed his eyes but nodded. This time, Dean didn't have any trouble interpreting the silent exchange. It was a carbon copy of Sam's usual watch-out-what-you-say-and-for-the-love-of-all-that's-holy-please-behave-for-once glare. It had no effect whatsoever on Dean, and he was willing to bet heavy money that it wouldn't have any effect on Damon either.

"Alright, Mr. Winchester," Damon said to Dean after Stefan had left. "What can I do for you?"

"Please call me Dean. Mr. Winchester was my father," he said.

"Not fond of him, were you?" Damon's expression lost some of its fake sincerity. "Yeah, I can relate with that. Call me Damon, then."

"Sure." Dean didn't correct Damon's assumption. It was best if Damon thought that they had something in common. "Mrs. Lockwood called my brother and me to investigate the recent disappearances in town." There was not much point in lying, at least not yet.

"You have a brother?" Damon's bright smile wavered almost imperceptibly. Only years on the road, hunting, where the smallest detail could mean the difference between death and survival, allowed Dean to notice it.

"Yeah, a younger brother," Dean said, watching Damon's reactions. None came.

"Where did you leave him?" Damon looked around, making sure that nobody else was lurking, unseen.

"We split up. He's making some calls right now, checking leads."

"You have leads?" This time Damon's face showed genuine curiosity. "What have you found?"

For a moment Dean was almost mesmerized by the intense blue of Damon's eyes. He hesitated, torn between the ingrained habit of lying and an odd desire to tell Damon the truth. In the end Dean chose the latter. Damon might look like a well-groomed gigolo, but he was a hunter. In a town filled with demons and vampires Dean might need him at his back. He sure couldn't trust Sam there any longer.

"Demons are behind the abductions. My brother is trying to find some connection between the five families, or any other kind of lead as to why they might have chosen this town."

Damon blinked, visibly taken aback. It didn't seem that that was the answer he had been expecting.

"I don't know what you've been drinking, but demons aren't real."

Dean laughed out loud. "You believe in vampires, but you don't believe in demons?"

Damon's grinned, showing off his very white teeth. "I've _seen_ vampires before."

Dean shrugged. "And I've seen demons, werewolves, ghosts, djinns, wendigos, angels, hell-hounds. I even have the bloodied and shredded t-shirts to prove it. Believe me, demons are no less real than vampires are."

"You're a hunter." Damon's smile melted away and his eyes became cold.

Those were the eyes of a killer. Despite his fancy clothes and his sophisticated appearance Dean _knew_ that Damon wouldn't hesitate to kill. It was written all over his face. Yeah, he was a hunter all right.

"That's the reason Mrs. Lockwood called us," Dean explained. "She suspected that something other than vampires could be behind the disappearances and wanted us to check it out. She was right."

Damon went to the bar near the coach and poured himself a drink. "What's your poison?" he asked Dean.

"Whatever you're having is fine," Dean replied.

The smell of bourbon filled the room. "How do you know demons are involved?" Damon asked, offering Dean a glass.

Dean didn't drink bourbon often, but he wasn't a philistine. The smell alone, heavy and warm spoke of the quality of the drink. He waved his glass around, taking in the aroma, before sipping it. "Good stuff," he exhaled.

"I wouldn't waste my time with anything else. Now, back to demons. How do you know they are behind this?"

"Sulfur," Dean said. "We found traces in all five houses."

"I know; the stench was everywhere. It took me forever to get rid of it." Damon wrinkled his nose in distaste, as if the memory alone offended him. "I take it that's a sign of _demonic activity_." He rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I just said that aloud. My life is turning into a freak show."

Dean huffed, amused. "Tell me about it. Sulfur usually equals demons; just like mysterious animal attacks with heavy blood loss and no blood to account for is a typical sign for vampires."

Damon inclined his head, a small grin curving the corner of his lips. He gave Dean a once-over. "You've killed vampires before?"

"When the situation required it," Dean said, gripping his glass tightly and taking a long swallow. The bourbon burned going down his throat, easing some of the still too-fresh memories. The all-consuming hunger, the desire to drink Lisa's blood, to kill, the smells, the sounds, the intensity of the sensations and the blood, always the blood, everywhere, calling to him even as he cut off the heads of every vampire he encountered. He took another swallow, but it wasn't strong enough to erase the one memory haunting him since that day: the satisfied, almost pleased smirk on Sam's face while he watched Dean being turned, not doing anything.

"Doesn't it always?" Damon said, snapping Dean back to reality.

"What?" Dean asked, looking up at Damon. He needed to keep his shit together and concentrate on the here and now.

"The situation," Damon explained. "Doesn't it always require killing all vampires?"

Dean wanted to answer " _yes_ ", but it felt hypocritical. He had been a vampire and neither Samuel nor Sam had killed him. The hunger could be controlled. It reminded Dean of Lenore and her coven. Somehow they'd done it, choosing to live off animal blood instead of killing humans. Dean had defended Gordon's position back then, even against Sam. The memory hit Dean like a punch in the gut. He'd almost forgotten what Sam had been like back then, passionate and full of hope, so convinced that everyone could be saved, that everyone deserved a chance, even vampires.

Suddenly, Dean realized that that Sam was dead. Jake had killed him. Dean had brought Sam back, but his brother had never been quite the same. Demon blood, Lucifer, the apocalypses, hell, it had all changed Sam. These days, Dean barely recognized his own brother.

Dean missed Sam. He missed the _Sam_ who had fought to spare Lenore, all bumbling innocence and endless hope.

Right now, he wasn't sure if his brother was better than vampires, or shape-shifters. Yet, he still wouldn't abandon him.

"It's probably hard to understand in a town where vampires have killed so many people, but even supernatural creatures can choose to live in peace. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, I think that hunters should let them be," Dean said, not knowing if he was talking about Lenore, Sam or himself.

Damon tilted his head and his lips quirked. "You can't be a popular hunter with those opinions."

Dean chuckled. "Not really. We once encountered a vampire coven that fed on animal blood. They worked, were part of society. They didn't kill humans." It felt freeing, admitting aloud that he had been wrong about Lenore.

"How very Twilight of them." Damon's eyes were filled with suppressed amusement. "They didn't happen to go by the name of Cullen, did they?"

"Ha, ha, ha, very funny." Dean rolled his eyes.

"And you let them go."

"Yes, we did." Dean straightened his back, waiting for the discussion he knew would follow. Mercy to monsters was a foreign word in a hunter's vocabulary. Dean knew that all too well.

"A hunter who spares vampires and knows his bourbon." Damon stared at Dean's lips as Dean took another swallow of his drink. His gaze lingered on Dean's throat for a moment. "I'm starting to like you more and more, Dean Winchester."

Dean coughed, uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny. He shifted on his feet. "Enough to let me take a look at your ancestors' diaries?"

Damon chortled. "What are you looking for again?"

"Anything connecting the five families being targeted."

"Those families weren't part of Mystic Falls during the founders' time," Damon said. "They didn't even exist back then."

"And you'd know this because?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

Damon shrugged, sipping at his drink. The corners of his lips twitched with amusement. "I've read those journals so often that sometimes it feels as if I was alive back then. I doubt you'll find anything useful in them."

"If it's okay with you, I'd rather be the judge of that myself." Dean put down his glass. "Look, I just want to find whatever demon is taking away innocent kids and off him, so that I can put this town behind me."

"You've barely arrived, and you already want to leave. What did Mystic Falls ever do to you?" Damon taunted him.

Dean looked through the window to the yellowing trees outside. "Nothing yet, just a hunch that things are going to get ugly soon."

Damon stared at him for a moment, as if trying to read Dean's thoughts. "Fine, you can have the journals, on one condition," he said after a moment.

"Which one?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"I want to go demon hunting with you."

Dean tensed. "I told you, demons are not for amateurs."

Damon laughed out loud. "Believe me, Dean, if someone knows how to _hunt_ and hunt well, it is me." He walked to the bookshelves covering the walls of the living room and picked out some old, leather-bound journals. He handed them to Dean. "There you go; knock yourself out." Then he stepped into Dean's personal space and whispered in his ear, "Remember to tell me if you find something useful. I'd be very cross if you don't. You don't want to see me angry."

Dean stood his ground, refusing to give Damon the satisfaction of backing off. "Are you threatening me?" He asked in a flat tone.

The smirk on Damon's face grew into a smug grin. "Yeah, is that a problem?"

Dean snorted and shook his head. "Fair enough," he said. After weeks dealing with Sam and Samuel's mysteriousness it was refreshing to have someone be so openly hostile. Dean didn't doubt for a second that Damon would make a dangerous enemy. "I'll keep you posted." If Damon wanted to fight demons, Dean wasn't going to stop him. The more, the merrier. "May I take these with me?" He lifted the journals, dragging Damon's attention back to the books.

"Make sure you don't lose them."

"I won't," Dean promised him.

* * *

Sam wasn't at the motel, nor did he answer his cell. Dean checked his watch. The library hadn't closed yet. Sam was probably too caught up in his research to notice his phone vibrating. For a moment Dean considered going after him, but decided against it. He picked up the first journal instead and started to look for any useful information.

The journals were oddly engrossing. The slow spread of vampires across town, the mounting fear, even the political views, kept capturing Dean's attention, making him forget that he was actually seeking clues about demonic activity in Mystic Falls or a connection between the families of the victims. By the time he finished the last journal it was already dark outside. Dean checked his watch once more. The library had closed hours ago, and there were still no signs of Sam.

Dean let one more hour tick by. He called his brother again and again, but the calls kept being redirected to voicemail. When the wait started to get on his nerves, he gave up and went in search of Sam.

As Dean had suspected the library was closed. Dean looked around the building, trying to see if his brother had managed to remain inside somehow. They did that sometimes, when they found something useful and needed more time for research. He texted Sam's phone again and waited inside the Impala another fifteen minutes for an answer, before he decided to drive around the town and try his luck.

Despite the huge houses and the great parks, at night, Mystic Falls was like any other town Dean had ever visited. The streets were almost empty. The only place that showed signs of life was the local hangout, some bar-cum-restaurant with the original name of Mystic Grill. Dean parked the Impala outside and went in, hoping that maybe Sam was there, interrogating the locals. It wasn't like his brother to do something like that without telling Dean first, but Dean was starting to realize that there was much he didn't know about this new Sam.

The place was rather lively for such a small town at such a late hour. There were no signs of his brother, but Dean spotted Damon sitting on the bar, talking to some other guy. After a small hesitation Dean headed their way.

"The great hunter, Dean Winchester, approaches," Damon said theatrically, turning around to face Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes at him. "You're hilarious." He took the seat and signaled the bartender to bring him the same drink Damon was having.

"This is Alaric Saltzman," Damon said, gesturing to the guy next to him. "The local history teacher."

"Dean Winchester," Dean said, offering Alaric his hand.

Alaric's handshake was firm and warm. Dean liked the guy almost immediately.

"Welcome to Mystic Falls," Alaric said. "Damon told me that you were here searching for demons."

"Damon has a big mouth," Dean said, appalled that Salvatore had spilled his secret like that. In Dean's experience hunters tended to be more discrete about the hunting business. "Don't believe everything he says."

Damon laughed. "I also have very big teeth. The better to eat you with."

Alaric elbowed Damon rather strongly. "Don't mind him. He's just being his usual self," he said to Dean.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Damon asked, affronted.

Alaric ignored him. "I know about the whole supernatural thing," Alaric told Dean. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Another vampire hunter?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, you could say that," Alaric said. "Although there are still vampires out there I'd love to kill, even though I haven't yet."

"My heart bleeds for you," Damon said, raising his glass to Alaric mockingly.

"Funny, I wasn't aware you had one," Alaric countered with a sharp grin.

Dean relaxed at the banter. It was obvious that two of them hunted together. Dean had seen that kind of rapport. He and Sam used to have it. Before. The memory of his brother brought a frown to Dean's face. He checked out his phone once more, but there were no messages.

"What's wrong?" Damon asked. "Did someone kill your puppy?"

Dean snorted. "My brother's missing. I was hoping to find him here, but he's not around."

"What does he look like?" Alaric asked.

Dean described his brother as best he could, but none of them had seen Sam either. He checked his watch once more and ignored his worries. It was still early. Maybe Sam had just done another one of his little disappearing numbers. Dean would just have to tear him a new one when he came back.

Two hours and five drinks later Dean's sense of foreboding had increased a hundredfold. He kept wondering what Sam was up to. Had he contacted their grandfather? Was this some kind of set-up like the hunts with the shape-shifter and the vampires had been? The fact that they had come here because Samuel had asked them to didn't sit well with Dean. He hated being out of the loop. More than that, he hated that Sam seemed to trust Samuel more than he did Dean, as if one year hunting with their grandfather was enough to erase a lifetime of hunting with Dean.

"Fuck this!" Dean downed his shot.

"Hear, hear!" Damon knocked back his own drink and ordered another round for the three of them.

"I'm calling dear old grandpa." Dean pulled out his phone, admitting defeat. "Maybe he knows where the hell Sam is."

After two rings, Samuel answered the phone. "Dean, what's up?" he said as way of greeting.

Dean leaned back on his seat and covered his left ear with a hand trying to muffle the ambient noise in the bar. "Did Sam call you today? Do you know where he is?" Dean asked, not bothering with niceties either.

"Isn't he with you?" Samuel sounded worried.

"Would I be calling you if he was?" Dean almost snarled at him, suddenly furious. He hated the rookie treatment the Campbells gave him. Dean might have stopped hunting for a year, but John Winchester raised him to be one hell of hunter. His grandfather could eat shit and die. Dean had helped to end the fucking apocalypses. He'd like to know where the Campbells were at the time.

"Easy, tiger, no offense intended," Samuel said placatingly.

Dean bit back a retort. "Hang on," he told his grandfather instead, "My connection is shitty. I'll try to find a better spot." The fresh air outside the bar helped clear his head a bit. "All right, talk now," he said once he felt more in control. "When was the last time you talked to Sam?"

"He called this morning, asking about demonic rituals involving vampires. I sent him what little information I had. I haven't heard from him since. Wait, Gwen is telling me something." Dean couldn't distinguish any words in the muffled exchange that followed. "Gwen is going to text you the coordinates of Sam's phone."

"How the hell does she know the location?" Dean asked.

"Something called GPS," Samuel said. "No idea how it works. Gwen says she can track Sam's phone with it; he gave her the codes to do it. Call me when you find him."

"Right, I'll call," Dean said absently, taken aback by the knowledge that Sam was allowing the fucking Campbells to track him through his phone. What kind of deranged asshole gave that much power to anyone? Ash had fucking taught them how to block the GPS signal, and here was Sam undoing all of Ash's work. Dean felt physically ill just imagining that the Campbells could know at any given moment where he and Sam were.

"I'm coming with you," Damon said from behind Dean.

Dean spun around, gun in his hand, heart beating madly in his chest. "Don't sneak up on me like that again, or you will end up dead," he threatened.

Damon looked totally unrepentant. "I'm harder to kill than I look."

"Don't be so sure," Dean said, putting his gun away.

Dean's phone beeped with an incoming message. "Fine, let's go," he said to Damon.

The coordinates led them to a park near the library. Dean stopped the car and got out, followed by Damon. He called Sam's name, but nobody answered him. According to Gwen's message, the coordinates could be off by about twenty-five to fifty meters. Dean picked his own phone, dialed Sam's number and waited, hoping to hear the familiar ring.

"I heard something that way," Damon said, walking further into the park.

Dean followed him. Moments later the faint ringing of Sam's phone reached his ears, before it died away. Dean hung up, ignoring Sam's voicemail and dialed again.

"Over here," Damon's voice called from the distance. "Found it."

Dean hurried up.

Damon was crouching over a pile of autumn leaves. "There you go." He handed Sam's phone over and continued to roam through the dead leaves in search of further clues. "I don't think there's anything else in here."

Dean checked the call log. Sam had called Samuel at 11:34 a.m. and Bobby at 11:57 a.m. He'd received a call from an unknown number at 3:33 p.m. The next call on the log was Dean's.

"He went missing between half past three and quarter to five p.m.," Dean said. He sniffed the phone carefully.

"What are you doing?" Damon asked, studying Dean with curiosity. Under the pale light of the park's streetlights, his face looked eerie.

"Searching for traces of sulfur. Sam wouldn't drop his phone and disappear. Someone took him." Fear coiled inside Dean. The last time demons had taken Sam, his brother had died, and Dean had ended up in hell.

Damon stood up and raised his head. His nostrils flared as he spun around slowly, searching the park. "Let's split up," he said. "We might be able to find something. You take that part of the park and I'll take this one."

"All right," Dean said as he watched Damon go. Something was off with him; Dean just didn't know what.

The light of the streetlamps was too dim, but Dean's eyes were used to working in the darkness. He took his time searching, kicking the piles of leaves, which had been pushed next to the tree trunks, hoping to find something else. He was scenting the air, trying to distinguish the foul smell of sulfur, when Damon yelled his name.

Dean ran to him, knife in hand.

"I found something," Damon said when Dean appeared, glancing curiously at the drawn blade.

"Fuck, don't scare me like that," Dean said, putting away his weapon, trying to calm his pumping heart. "I thought you were being attacked."

"And you came to the rescue? How very Prince Charming of you. Do you also want a kiss?" Damon batted his eyelashes.

Dean didn't feel like joking. "What did you find?" he asked.

"I don't know if this is your brother's," he said, "but whoever they took went down fighting." He showed Dean a bloodied knife.

The light of the lamp caught on the familiar blade, and Dean's heart sank. "It's Sam's," he said once he trusted his voice to remain steady.

"The blood reeks of sulfur. I don't believe it's your brother's," Damon said, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean shrugged it off and stepped back. Damon's expression closed off as if someone had pushed a switch.

"Sorry, I—" Dean started. He couldn't deal with this right now. He needed to pray to Castiel. The angel might be the only one who knew where Sam was being held. Dean took the knife from Damon and put it away, being careful not to touch the blood. "I'm going to head back to the motel. It's too dark to keep searching. I'll come back tomorrow, when the light is better."

"The tracks will be gone by then," Damon pointed out.

"Do you _see_ any right now?" Dean asked. Whoever this demon was, it knew what it was doing. Dean could summon Crowley and ask him if he knew anything about this. Then again, maybe Crowley was the one responsible. Sam, Dean and Bobby held too much power over him. He might have decided to tie up the loose ends.

"No," Damon admitted. "Even the smell of sulfur stops suddenly. No idea how anyone could manage to mask that stench."

"I'm going back to the motel," Dean repeated. "There are some calls I need to make."

"When do you want to start the search tomorrow?" Damon asked him.

The offer took Dean by surprise. "Give me your number; I'll contact you tomorrow." He needed to contact Castiel first.

"All right," Damon said. "Just don't forget to call."

* * *

"Dean, you know perfectly well that I am unable to locate Sam," Castiel said patiently. "I myself made sure that no angels could ever find either of you. That hasn't changed."

Dean paced around the room, trying to figure out some way to find Sam. "Isn't he praying to you, or something?" he asked hopefully.

Castiel closed his eyes and raised his head slightly, listening. "No," he finally said. "It's been a long time since Sam prayed to anyone."

"Fucking fantastic!" Dean groused. "Now what? Do you have any ideas where he might be?"

"I already told you, Dean, I do not know where Sam is being held," Castiel repeated calmly. "He is still alive, though. I'd know if he had died."

Dean suppressed the urge to throw something at the angel. None of this was Castiel's fault. He was just a convenient target. "All right then, let's go to the park. You might be able to find something."

"Very well," Castiel said and vanished.

Dean cursed and started to gather his guns, ready to follow.

"There's nothing in there," Castiel said, appearing right behind Dean.

"For fuck's sake, Castiel." Dean jumped and spun around, startled. "How many times have I told you to not do that?"

"One-hundred-seventy-four," Castiel said.

"Then stop doing it," Dean complained, knowing it was useless. "What did you find?"

"Nothing," Castiel said. "It must be a powerful demon to be able to vanish at will. Be careful."

Dean smirked at Castiel. "That's what I have my very own guarding angel for," he joked.

Castiel's expression closed off. To anybody else, it'd probably look the same as before, but Dean had learned to read even the smallest of twitches on the angel's face. The lack of reaction could only mean one thing. "You are not coming with me, are you?"

The angel had the grace to look ashamed. He shook his head, avoiding Dean's face. "I'm sorry, Dean, but heaven is in total chaos. I came because your prayers were desperate, but I don't have time to help you search for your brother. You should ask Bobby to come. I could bring him here in the blink of an eye," he offered.

"No, thank you," Dean said, proud of how even and normal his voice sounded. "I'll manage on my own."

"Dean, you must understand, those are _my brothers_ out there. They are dying, too." It was the closest Castiel had ever come to pleading in Dean's presence.

Dean didn't understand at all. As far as he was concerned all angels were a bunch of douche-bags with daddy-issues who got what they deserved. "It's all right," Dean lied. "Go then."

"Dean," Castiel said.

"Go, Castiel!" Dean snapped.

The angel looked at him for an instant before vanishing as if he'd never been there.

Dean called Bobby next.

"I still haven't found anything," Bobby griped as greeting.

"Found what?" Dean asked.

"Demonic rituals involving vampires. Sam didn't tell you?" Bobby questioned.

"He's missing," Dean said.

"Missing? Since when?"

"I don't know, some time after he called you. It looks like when Azazel took him: signs of struggle, traces of sulfur and nothing else. He's just gone."

Dean could hear Bobby leafing through his books in the background, the rattling sound of pages being turned the only indication that he was still there. "That's not good," Bobby said at last. "Are you sure only demons are involved?"

"Pretty much, yeah, why you ask?" The muscles on Dean's shoulders tensed. He didn't like Bobby's tone. It seldom meant good news.

"The only ritual I've been able to find involving vampires is Enochian. It's very obscure. It was on one of the books Castiel gave me when we were researching the apocalypse. A vampire and a human are sacrificed, representing eternity and mortality, damnation and innocence. It works best if they are somehow linked by a strong emotion, either hate or love," Bobby said.

"What is the ritual for?" Dean dreaded the answer. Things always took a dive the moment angels became involved.

"It's used to strengthen the power of an angel over its vessel," Bobby said. "It's seldom invoked. Usually angels can control their vessels without help."

"We know at least one exception to that rule." Dean swallowed. "You think someone's trying to summon Lucifer again."

"I told you I didn't like it," Bobby grumbled. "Only an angel can do it, though. Demons alone wouldn't have the power. You should talk to Castiel."

"He's too busy," Dean said flatly. "I'll see if I can find anything. That's a good starting point."

By the time Dean hung up the first rays of dim morning light were starting to seep in through the room's dust-covered window. He splashed some cold water onto his face. Sleep was the last thing on Dean's mind, but he knew himself enough to recognize the first signs of exhaustion. He needed some damn coffee.

He started the Impala and dialed Damon's number while he waited for the engine to warm up.

"This better be fucking good," Damon's sleepy voice answered him.

"You said to call you as soon as I knew something," Dean reminded him gleefully.

"Dean?" Damon said, sounding more awake. "It's five o'clock in the goddamned morning. You are joking, right?"

"Not really," Dean said. "I have one question, then you can go back to your beauty sleep."

"I could just hang up now, you know," Damon pointed out.

"I'd keep calling," Dean said.

"I could turn off the phone," Damon countered.

Dean huffed, leaning back on the driver's seat, enjoying the increasing warmth inside the car. "I know where you live," he reminded Damon.

"I've killed people for less," Damon griped. "All right, ask away. It's probably the fastest way to get rid of you, other than ripping your heart out. I'd have to leave my bed for that. Rain check?"

Dean laughed out loud. "I'm a bit harder to kill than that, but sure, why not. Look, this might sound like an odd question, but bear with me. Was there anything suspicious about the kidnapped victims?"

"Suspicious how?" Damon asked.

"Anything that might indicate one or more of them were vampires," Dean explained, knowing that it wouldn't go over well. Vampire hunters were sensitive about such things.

"Why do you ask?" Damon wanted to know.

"My brother was following a lead involving vampire sacrifices when he disappeared. It's worth checking out," Dean said.

There was a tense silence on Damon's side of the line. "What kind of sacrifice?" he asked in an even tone that rose goosebumps along Dean's spine.

"It's usually performed with a vampire and a human that either love or hate each other. It increases the caster's power," Dean lied. Telling a hunter that Sam was Lucifer's vessel and the ritual might restart the apocalypse probably wouldn't be a great idea, he decided. "Could some of them have been vampires?"

"A human and a vampire in love," Damon repeated, his voice trailing off. "I'll call you back," he said abruptly and hung up.

Dean regarded his phone, speechless. Well, fuck, Damon's reaction hadn't been good.

Ten minutes later his phone rang. "Yes," Dean answered.

"Hunter," Damon said, an odd, almost desperate edge to his voice. "Come to the Gilberts' house now. Elena and Stefan are gone."

"Elena?" Dean asked.

"Stefan's girlfriend," Damon explained. "Stefan spent the night at her place. I'm in Elena's room right now. The place reeks of sulfur. Same M.O., no signs of struggle, nothing was taken, not a single clue. Nothing. Zero. Zed. Nada."

"Damn it," Dean snarled. The tires of the Impala screeched on the pavement as Dean turned the car around sharply, heading for the Gilberts'.

* * *

Elena Gilbert's house was another dead end. Other than the whining sound of the EMF and the traces of sulfur, which Damon had already mentioned, there were no further leads.

Damon had a hard time keeping calm. "Search again! There must be something you're missing. What kind of hunter are you, anyway?"

"We've searched the place five times already, Damon," Dean snarled. "We are wasting our time here!"

"Fine, how do we find them, then?" Damon demanded, balling his hands into fists.

"I don't know!" Dean yelled, frustrated. "I don't know," he repeated. He took a calming breath. This was leading them nowhere. "Is Elena a vampire?" Dean didn't want to deal with vampires. A part of him kept wondering if Sam's disappearance wasn't just another plot to use Dean as bait. He shook his head, pushing away the thought. He needed to focus on the case.

Damon stopped his angry pacing and glared at Dean. "What makes you think that?"

Dean rubbed his face with his hands. "You hung up on me the moment I mentioned that the ritual might also need vampires as victims. Next thing you did was check on your brother and his girlfriend. That's too much of a coincidence. Look, if she's not killing humans I'm not going to go out of my way to off her. However, if you want to find them, we need to work together."

Damon's lips twitched. "All right." His eyes narrowed. "Let's see if you can truly work with vampires." In a blur of movement Damon vanished from the far side of the room and materialized next to Dean.

Dean only had time to jump back and pull out his gun, years of training and deep-ingrained instinct taking over. For a second they stood there, Dean's gun the only thing between them.

Damon raised an amused eyebrow at Dean and took a careful step back, giving Dean some space. Slowly, his face transformed. Dark veins appeared under his eyes, his fangs extended, and his face paled, becoming almost corpse-like.

He was different from any other vampire Dean had encountered. Dean held on to his gun, trying uselessly to control the surge of adrenaline rushing through his body, aware that blessed silver bullets would be useless against Damon.

"You're a vampire." Dean didn't remember the last time he'd felt so out of his depth. "How is that even possible?" Astonished, Dean took in the rays of sunlight hitting Damon straight on. Vampire weren't supposed to walk in daylight. Those were just children's stories, badly researched myths. Except that here Dean was, standing in front of one. "The fuck, at least you don't sparkle."

Damon laughed. "Believe me, with the diet I'm on, I could give the Cullens a run for their money. I don't remember the last time I killed a human. It's been that long." His voice held more longing than regret when he said it.

"My heart bleeds for you," Dean deadpanned.

"Does it now? Want me to kiss it better? I bet you taste as good as you smell," he added in a sultry voice.

"Are you flirting with me?" Dean asked, appalled. Was there a reason why every fucking vampire he met had to hit on him?

"You're a bit slow, aren't you? But your instincts are good." Damon gave a pointed look at Dean's gun. The muzzle still pointed at Damon's heart. "If a bit useless." Next thing Dean knew, his gun had been thrown all the way across the room, and Damon was holding him against a wall, a hand grasping Dean's neck and squeezing. Dean fought for breath, trying uselessly to break the vampire's iron grip.

Damon eased his hold instants before Dean lost consciousness. Dean slipped down the wall, gasping for air. His hands went automatically to his neck, caressing the bruises already forming.

"I'm trusting you with my secret, hunter," Damon said. He crouched in front of Dean and held Dean's chin up, forcing Dean to meet his gaze. "I want you to remember that I could have killed you, had I wanted to, and I didn't. Don't make me regret it."

Dean forced himself to focus, awareness returning to his body. He swallowed around his swollen throat and nodded once. He'd remember. Oh, yeah, he'd remember all right. "Stefan is the vampire, not Elena."

"Obviously. Now, tell me how we can find them. This can't be the first time that some demon has kidnapped your brother, not if you've been in the hunting business as long as you claim." Damon regarded him. "How did you find him before?"

Dean sighed. "I got lucky. Last time something like this happened, another psychic was kidnapped together with Sam. He sent me an image of the place where they were being held."

"A psychic," Damon repeated slowly. "Of course! Hurry up, we need to find Bonnie." He stood up and offered Dean a hand.

After a small hesitation Dean took it. The skin of his back crawled with revulsion, the memories of his hours as a vampire still too close. "You know a psychic?" Dean asked suspiciously, liking the turn of events less and less. Where psychic children were, demons soon followed.

"A witch, same thing, different name," Damon said, walking to the door. "She'll be able to locate Elena. They are close."

"No," Dean stopped on his tracks. "I'm not asking a _witch_ for help."

"I don't see you bringing up any better ideas," Damon snapped.

"Look, witches are not to be trusted," Dean said.

"And hunters are so trustworthy?" Damon snorted. "You don't have to trust her; you just need to use her. You're not going to tell me that you're working with me because you _trust me_. You're here because I'm currently your only option. It's the same with Bonnie. She can help. We use her."

Dean hated to admit it, but Damon was right. "Okay," he agreed. "Let's go find your witch."

* * *

The witch was _hot_. It'd been a long time since Dean noticed women that way. Between the Apocalypse, Sam's stay in hell and Lisa, Dean had stopped collecting notches in his belt. He wasn't about to start, least of all with a witch who wasn't even legal, but boy was he tempted.

The witch not only was hot as hell; she also hated vampires. Dean liked her more by the minute.

"I'm not inviting you in." She scowled at Damon, safe on the other side of the door.

"Bonnie, don't be like that," Damon cajoled, seemingly immune to her death glare. "Elena is gone. Surely you want to find her as much as I do."

"Of course," she said. "However, I don't need you in my house to scry for her. You'll wait outside until I'm done."

Dean's slips twitched.

Bonnie narrowed her eyes, surveying Dean with distrust. Dean didn't blame her. Coming with Damon wasn't probably the best reference. "If you'd move aside, please," he said, pushing her to the side and stepping over the threshold and into her house. "See, no invitation needed. I'm not a vampire. Truth be told, I'm in the business of killing them."

"Hey!" Damon protested. "You can't leave me here!"

Bonnie threw a dirty look at Damon, before glancing over at Dean.

Dean shrugged, leaving the decision up to her.

Bonnie's lips curled up mischievously. "I'll let you know what we decide," Bonnie said, shutting the door on Damon's dumbfounded face. She assessed Dean for a moment. "So you're a vampire hunter, then."

"I'm a hunter," Dean clarified. "My brother and I deal with supernatural things, not just vampires. If it's hurting innocent people and it's supernatural, we take care of it."

Bonnie nodded. "Rogue witches, too?" she asked.

Dean gave her points for not beating around the bush. "If they are hurting people, then yes."

"At least you're sincere," Bonnie said. The hard lines around her eyes and mouth eased, and she suddenly seemed impossibly young to be coping with vampires and missing friends.

A cell phone started ringing. It wasn't Dean's. The witch, Bonnie, Dean corrected himself, searched inside her pocket and frowned when she saw the caller ID. She killed the call without taking it, putting the phone away. It started ringing again almost immediately.

"What do you want, Damon?" she groused. Her frown deepened as she listened to Damon's reply. "All right!" She turned to Dean with a grim expression. "We're doing the location spell in the Salvatore's house." She started gathering her things.

"What did he say to convince you?" Dean asked, intrigued.

"Just Damon being his usual, sociopathic, obnoxious self." She shrugged. "Stefan usually keeps him leashed, but with him gone, it's better if we don't lose track of him for too long."

"I heard that," Damon yelled from outside the house.

Bonnie just rolled her eyes in disgust, but Dean noticed that the corners of her lips curved slightly, as if she was amused despite herself.

The location spell wasn't as flashy as Dean had expected. As a matter of fact nothing happened. Bonnie closed her eyes and raised her hands, palms down. She stood like that for some minutes. Pearls of sweat covered her upper lip and ran down her temple. A slight frown creased her brow.

"All right," she said, opening her eyes and letting her hands fall. "Let's go."

"Wait a second," Damon said, crossing his arms. "No one said you were coming with us."

"You can't stop me," Bonnie argued. "Besides, you don't even know where you need to go."

"Which is why you'll be a good little witch, give us the address and remain here until we come back with everybody," Damon said, flashing his teeth. He didn't look particularly reassuring when he did that.

"Dream on, Damon. It's not happening," Bonnie said.

"Enough!" Dean snapped. They didn't have time for pointless bickering. "There are lives are stake here, in case both of you have forgotten. Get a fucking grip!"

Studying Bonnie carefully Dean said, "This isn't the kind of place where I think you should be going into, but," he raised both arms to forestall her protest, "I'd be the last person to question what the minimum age for hunting should be. Just… You need to know what you're dealing with. Demons are the real deal — they make vampires look like a bunch of angry Chihuahuas with more bark than bite."

"Hey, I resent that remark," Damon pouted. "I'm evil and dangerous."

"Yes, everyone is terrified of you," Bonnie deadpanned. "I know how to take care of myself," she said, addressing Dean.

"Your funeral," Dean said. "I won't slow down for you. You come with us, you watch out for yourself."

"We're not taking her with us," Damon protested.

"I'm taking _you_ with me, and you're evil and dangerous according to your own press," Dean pointed out.

"Are you mocking me?" Damon asked with a frown.

"Duh," Dean said.

"They are hiding on the ruins of the Lockwood's estate." Bonnie interrupted further arguments.

"Thank you." Damon disappeared in a flash, leaving Boonie and Dean behind.

"Where is he going?" Dean asked, angry at the delay.

"Knowing Damon, he's heading for the Lockwood's property as we speak," Bonnie told him. "He'll be there long before we arrive."

"Wonderful." Dean's voice dripped sarcasm. He hated amateurs, especially the kind who came with supernatural powers and lived under the delusion that it made them better hunters. Practice and good planning were more important than brute, supernatural strength. Otherwise, Sam and Dean would have been dead by now.

"We should hurry. He'll get himself killed otherwise," Dean told Bonnie.

"Will he now?" Bonnie asked, a wishful expression sweeping over her face. "Do you want to stop for a coffee first?"

Dean laughed out loud. "You don't like him much, do you?"

"He's a vampire," she said as if that was explanation enough.

Dean shrugged. "And you are a witch. I know many hunters who would think that's reason enough to go after you."

"It's not the same. You don't know Damon," Bonnie argued.

"No, I don't." The again, Dean didn't know her either.

* * *

Dean parked the Impala in a clearing in the woods, deep within the Lockwood's land. The sun was high in the sky, and the chilly morning air had warmed.

Dean pocketed Ruby's knife and after a small hesitation added the angelic sword he and Sam had taken from Raphael's minions. He wasn't powerful enough or fast enough to kill an angel, but the sword might be enough to make it pause for a decisive instant.

"Here." He offered Bonnie a revolver with blessed bullets.

A fearful look flashed across her face, and she recoiled from the gun, hiding her hands behind her back. "I don't know how to use that," she said.

"Wonderful," Dean mumbled.

Bonnie glared at him. An invisible force plucked the gun from Dean's fingers. It hovered tauntingly just outside his reach, dancing away whenever he tried to catch it.

"I don't need guns. I can defend myself without them." The witch dared him to disagree.

He doubted that parlor tricks would be enough to fool demons but it was better than nothing. "All right, your funeral," he said, admitting defeat. "Lead the way, then, My Lady."

She pursed her lips but made for the woods. They walked in silence. Bonnie only spoke to point out tricky holes, hidden between the fallen leaves, which she knew from years playing in the woods.

"Stop," Dean told her after they've been walking for over twenty minutes, listening carefully to the noises in the forest. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" She asked, checking her surroundings.

Dean placed a forefinger over his own lips, signaling to her to keep quiet. Slowly, he pulled his knife out, keeping it close to his body. He moved stealthily, edging closer to the place where the shadows of the trees deepened and the trail took a sharp turn. A body lay face down on the side of the road. Dean recognized Damon's clothes and expensive leather jacket.

Behind him, Bonnie gasped and stepped past Dean, hurrying towards Damon. Dean grabbed her hand on the last second, jerking her back. "No," he warned. "It could be a trap. Stay here." Knife still in hand, he sidled up to Damon, keeping an eye on the shadows. With his right foot, he prodded the vampire's body. Some of the leaves moved revealing the edges of a protective sigil.

Dean squatted. He shoved the leaves aside and studied the symbols carved on the floor. "Someone didn't want vampires to come in here. This is an old protection against those touched by death: vampires, ghosts, zombies, ghouls. It sucks the power out of them."

"I've never seen anything like it," Bonnie said, coming closer and crouching next to Dean.

"I'd be surprised if you had," Dean said. "This isn't your average protection. Few creatures have the power or purity needed to draw this and make it work. A human couldn't do it." The only reason Dean recognized the symbols at all, was because he'd seen Castiel draw something similar once.

Dean scrutinized the woods with renewed intensity. The forest was too quiet for his liking.

"So, a demon didn't do this?" Bonnie asked.

"No, the symbols would've zapped their energy just as they did Damon's," Dean explained to her. "After all, you need to die first, before you can go to hell. This is the work of angels."

"Wait, angels?" Bonnie asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Nobody said anything about angels."

Dean shrugged. People, he had found out, were more willing to believe in demons than in angels. "You can still head back if you want."

"Very funny," she said. "Why are they kidnapping humans? I thought angels were the good guys."

Dean snorted. "Does the name Lucifer ring any bells? Believe me, most angels are first class assholes. Give me a demon any day; they're easier to kill."

"Is Damon even alive?"

"Yeah, he's just trapped. The moment we break the pattern he should regain consciousness." Dean regarded Bonnie with curiosity. "I thought you didn't like him."

"I loathe him," Bonnie said. "However, I'm willing to admit that he could be useful in a fight, and usually he can be trusted when Elena's and Stefan's lives are at stake."

"All right then." Dean used his knife to break one of the lines of the pentagram. "That should do it."

Seconds later Damon gasped and stood up. He spun around and gaped at them. "What the hell was that?" he asked, still looking dizzy. "It felt like someone dropped an anvil on me."

"I would've loved to see that," Bonnie said wistfully.

"Next time try not to get ahead of yourself," Dean retorted, feeling some schadenfreude himself.

Damon took a tentative step forward, as if he was still expecting to be slammed back by the force of the cage. When it didn't happen, his face morphed into a self-satisfied grin that made Dean sigh. So much for the vampire learning something from all of this.

"Why would an angel work together with a demon?" Bonnie asked, proving that she was smarter than she let on.

"Well, there's at least one thing that both, angels and demons, crave with the same intensity," Dean said. "The Apocalypse."

"You aren't joking," Damon said, flabbergasted.

"I wish," Dean said.

"So, wait, does that mean that angels are involved in this, too?" Damon rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"Yes, Damon," Bonnie said sweetly. "You need to keep up. Oh, right, I forgot. We had that part of the discussion while you were taking your nap."

Damon's fangs flashed. "Don't push me, witch," he snarled.

"Bring it on," Bonnie answered.

"Guys, stop it!" Dean stepped between them, pushing them apart. "Sam, Stefan and Elena are waiting. Remember?"

"Sure." Damon glared at Bonnie a moment longer before he finally looked at Dean. "How do you kill an angel, then?"

"You don't," Dean said. "Very few things work on them. Only another angel can do it."

"How do we get rid of them then?" Damon asked.

"There are ways. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

They waded through the forest at a slow pace. Damon walked slightly ahead of them, stopping every now and then and whiffing the air. The underground cellar of the Lockwood's old estate had just come into view when Dean slammed into an invisible wall, the impact knocking the air out of him. Seconds later Bonnie, too, came to stop.

"Wonderful," Dean cursed.

"What is it?" Damon stopped.

"We can't go forward," Dean said. "There's some kind of protection barrier in place."

"Against what?" Bonnie asked, poking at the invisible wall with her right hand.

"Against humans." Dean kicked against the barrier, furious. "Fuck! What the hell are they doing in there? Protection against creatures touched by death and against those alive."

"That'd stop pretty much anything from trespassing, wouldn't it?" Damon walked back to them.

"Probably the point," Bonnie said, still feeling her way around the barrier. She closed her eyes, and her forehead creased in concentration. "It's beautiful."

"What?" Dean watched her warily.

"The magic holding it all together. I've never seen anything like it." Bonnie stepped back and opened her eyes. "I believe that I can open a breach big enough to let you go through, but it'll take pretty much everything I've got." Her eyes shifted to Damon before she went on. "Don't trust Damon, no matter how charming he seems; he's a bastard."

"I knew it!" Damon said gleefully. "You think I'm charming." He grinned at her. "For the record, my parents were married when I was born. It was kind of big deal back then."

"Can you do it?" Dean asked Bonnie. He hadn't thought that she was so powerful. It usually took witches decades to fully tap into their powers.

"Only one way to find out." Bonnie sat down on the ground and crossed her legs. She raised her hands, palms facing forward, until they were inches away from the barrier. She squeezed her eyes close and pursed her lips. Her hands trembled with effort as they moved away from each other slowly. Beads of sweat built on Bonnie's upper lip and at her temples. She panted, fighting for breath.

"Are you all right?" Damon asked, sounding worried.

"Shut up," Bonnie said from between clenched teeth. "I need to concentrate."

"Excuse me," Damon said, stretching the word. "See if I care when you drop dead."

"Now," Bonnie gasped. The tremors had extended from her hands to her arms. The armpits of her blouse were drenched with sweat, as if she had been running for miles instead of just sitting on the ground.

"Now what?" Damon asked.

Dean didn't wait for Bonnie's answer. He touched the barrier in front of Bonnie's outstretched arms until he found a hole. Energy pulsed around him angrily as he tried to squeeze through, as if the barrier somehow could sense that Dean wasn't welcome.

"Clear," Dean called as soon as he made it to the other side. Bonnie's hands collapsed to her side and she crumbled to the floor. Dean took an automatic step forward, trying to see what was wrong, but Damon's iron grip on his forearm stopped him.

"Don't," Damon said. "She sacrificed herself so that you could come through, going back will undo her work. We need to keep going. Stefan and Elena are in danger, Sam too, probably," he added in an afterthought.

"Does it ever end?" Dean asked Damon.

"What?"

"The desire to protect your brother just because he's younger," Dean clarified, wanting to know if he'd ever be free of the all-consuming sense of responsibility for Sam that John and life had sown in him.

Damon stopped for a moment, his eyes lost in the distance. "Stefan is a big boy; he doesn't need protection, but he is _my_ brother." Damon's tone was proprietary. "If someone is going to hurt him and screw him over, it will be me. Nobody else has that right. That hasn't changed in the last century and a half."

Dean nodded. "I don't want to hurt Sam."

"Enjoy the luxury while it lasts," Damon said. "Given enough time you will."

"I already have," Dean said. He and Sam had hurt each other a lot during the last war. Dean hoped that this time, whatever trouble was brewing in the horizon would spare them that.

He wasn't even sure if this new Sam could be hurt. Sometimes it was as if Sam were dead inside. There were pieces of him that were missing.

Damon jerked Dean back. Dean stumbled, but the vampire steadied him.

"What the fuck?" Dean twisted around, furious.

"Hush," Damon said, looking in the distance. "There are people out there. I can hear them."

Dean didn't like trusting vampires for intel, but it was better than nothing. At least he knew that Damon was invested in this, too. Dean pulled out Ruby's knife, gripping it tight.

"You can fight demons with a knife?" Damon asked dubiously.

"This isn't just any knife," Dean said. "It was forged to kill demons."

Damon tilted his head and frowned, studying the knife carefully. He turned his head around and closed his eyes, listening to some noise beyond Dean's range of hearing. With a blur of movement, Damon ripped the knife out of Dean's hands and disappeared.

"Fucking vampire!" Dean cursed, pulling out the gun Bonnie had refused to take. Dean was still cursing a blue streak when Damon came back.

The vampire's right hand was drenched with blood. It dripped from the point of the knife, down to the butt, and onto Damon's wrist and forearm. A maniacal grin stretched across the vampire's face. "I love this blade. It's a thing of beauty. Do you think it'll work on vampires, too?"

"It'll be my pleasure to test it," Dean spat angrily, yanking the knife away from Damon.

"Temper, temper." Damon let the knife go. "I just got rid of our demonic problem." He sniffed at the blood on his hand and crinkled his nose. "Sulfur," he said, sticking out his tongue as if to taste it.

"No!" Dean yelled, swatting Damon's hand away. "Don't! You don't want to have that blood in your system. I've seen what it does to people. It's not pretty."

Technically, it was a lie. For all Dean knew, Damon would love to boost his powers with demon's blood. He was already a blood-addict in a sense. It would be just one more step down the slippery slope.

"What does it do?" Damon eyed the blood with curiosity.

"It changes you." Dean kept his answer purposefully vague. "Anyway, what was that stunt about?"

Damon smiled and bowed down with a flourish. "That was yours truly solving our stealth problem. I killed the demons guarding the entrance. Very quiet and hush-hush. I doubt anyone inside noticed anything."

"Of all the idiotic things to do!" Dean snarled. "What if there had been angels in there, too?" Dean wanted to bang his head against something. What the vampire didn't know about hunting could fill libraries.

"There weren't." Damon shrugged. "How are you planning to get rid of them any way?"

"I told you; there are ways." Dean might not be able to kill angels, but he could send them far, far away, courtesy of Castiel's teachings.

"Care to tell me how before we walk in there." Damon's voice was laced with anticipation.

Dean hesitated. "How good are you at controlling the bloodlust with fresh blood around?"

"I can control myself," Damon said in an even tone, his lips twitching with amusement. It didn't ease Dean's worries any.

"All right, here goes nothing." Dean swallowed and gave the knife back to Damon. Then, he looked around until he found a small wood stick. Painstakingly, he painted the Enochian sigils used to vanquish angels on the ground with it.

Dean stood up and dusted off the dirt on his trousers. Gathering his courage he started to unbutton his shirt. Dean's heart beat faster; his fingers were clammy and clumsy as he tried to pry the buttons open. He wanted nothing more than to call the whole thing off, or better yet, drive the wooden stick straight through Damon's heart.

"You reek of fear," Damon said, taking a step closer and breathing in the air around Dean with relish.

"You'd be scared too, if you were still a mortal and were about to ask a vampire to cut your chest open," Dean said, anger washing off some of the fear. He wasn't scared of vampires. He was scared of the fact that somehow he'd let himself be roped into working with one. "Just make sure to keep your blood to yourself. If you infect me I _will_ kill you."

Damon chuckled. "Lay off the stupid threats, and tell me more about the part where I get to cut your chest open."

Dean snorted, amused despite himself at Damon's almost childlike excitement. "You need to carve those sigils on my chest. Just deep enough that blood can flow. It'll allow us to get rid of the angels."

"Nice," Damon said. He traced his left hand over Dean's smooth chest.

"What are you doing?" Dean flinched back.

Damon gave him an infuriating smirk. "Calm down, I'm just getting a feel of the canvas before I get to work." He placed the tip of the knife on Dean's skin and pressed.

Dean choked back the pain, forcing himself to stay still.

Damon didn't linger. The knife cut swiftly through Dean's skin, leaving a throbbing trail of pain on its wake.

Dean breathed deeply, in and out, riding the pain. Compared to other injuries he'd suffered during his life as a hunter it was manageable. Compared to the tortures he'd undergone in hell it was almost a caress.

The hot, wet contact of Damon's tongue lapping at his skin startled Dean, bringing him back to the present. He opened his eyes, not remembering having closed them, and shoved the vampire away.

Damon, the asshole, didn't even stumble. "Waste not, want not." He laughed. "You taste even better than you smell."

"Fuck you!" Dean snarled.

Damon's grin widened. "With pleasure. Hold that thought until after we've rescued our brothers."

The vampire's insinuations brought back memories that Dean wanted to forget. Being turned by a vampire once had been enough. He'd rather die for good. Fear gripped Dean, and he lashed out. He took a swing at Damon, but the vampire sidestepped the attack with maddening ease.

"Hmm, feisty. I like that. I'm going to enjoy you so much," Damon taunted him.

"Not as much as I will enjoy ripping your head off, believe me," Dean said, balling his hands into fists. He forced himself to let go of his anger. The vampire would just use it against him, and Dean couldn't afford it. He buttoned up his shirt and closed his leather jacket, hoping that it would be enough to keep the blood out of sight. "We don't have time to lose."

Damon's face turned serious. "You're right." He pointed down the trail. "The entrance to the ruins is not far away. What's the plan?"

Dean shrugged. "We storm the place; I banish the angels; you kill the demons and everybody is rescued. The end."

Damon's eyebrows rose. "That's your plan?" He gaped at Dean.

"I've worked with less in the past," Dean admitted somewhat sheepishly. More often than not carefully laid plans went to hell. Sometimes literally. Dean had learned to improvise.

"Wow, and I here I thought that Stefan had the market on stupid plans cornered," Damon said. "I owe him an apology."

"It's a good plan," Dean protested.

"All right then. Kill everyone, rescue the victims. I can make that work," Damon said. "Let's go."

Demons' bodies lay scattered around the woods as they approached the entrance. Dean counted four, although he suspected that more were hidden from sight.

They descended the steps to the underground cellar noiselessly. As setups for kidnappings and torture went, this one was one of the best Dean had encountered. Next to him Damon tensed, coming to a stop. The vampire clutched the knife on his hand and listened.

"What is it?" Dean whispered.

"They are hurting Stefan," Damon hissed, and his face transformed. The veins under his eyes filled with dark blood and his face whitened.

Dean fought down the hunter instincts telling him to grab a stake and kill Damon then and there. "Don't do anything stupid," Dean warned him. "We need the element of surprise."

"I know," Damon snarled, flashing his fangs at Dean.

It was hard, but Dean stood his ground without flinching back. "How many people are there? Can you tell?" he asked in whisper.

"Do angels have heartbeats?" Damon asked.

"Their vessels do."

"All right." Damon concentrated, listening again. His nostrils flared.

"Mrs. Lockwood is here," Damon said, opening his eyes in surprise. "She's the one directing them."

"What?" Dean asked, taken aback. He and Sam had talked to her; they had used the name of the Lord in her presence and she hadn't flinched. "Fuck!" They had been so stupid. This whole thing had been a set up to lure Sam to Mystic Falls from the beginning. "She's the angel."

" _Carol Lockwood_ is an _angel_? You've got to be kidding me!" Damon's face transformed back, momentarily startled. "If that woman is an angel, I'm the king of England."

"She's a vessel. Trust me, personality has nothing to do with it," Dean said. "She just needs to come from the right bloodline and give consent."

"Bloodline?" Damon questioned.

"The ability to become a vessel is hereditary." Dean wondered why he was explaining all of this.

"I'm starting to feel sorry for that Taylor kid," Damon murmured.

"Who?"

"Her son. Angel puppet or werewolf. His life must suck."

"He's a werewolf?" Dean tensed.

"I told you; his life sucks," Damon said.

"How come you've let him live so long," Dean inquired. Werewolves and vampires were natural enemies.

"He has yet to bark at the wrong tree." Damon shrugged. "Plus, Elena doesn't want him to die. That girl is lovely, but her taste in friends and boyfriends sucks. Hush," Damon said to Dean. "As far as I can tell we have five demons, three humans and Stefan."

"How can you tell demons from humans?" Dean was curious.

"Sulfur does odd things to the heart rate," Damon explained.

They closed in on the opening in the middle of the cellar, taking cover behind the wall separating the cells from the central room. The reek of blood, urine, sulfur and stale air washed over Dean. He glanced at the opening, being careful not to give away his position and studied the layout.

Sam was being held in the middle of the room. His body hung from the ceiling, supported by old, metal manacles. His feet hovered over a pentagram drawn with blood and decorated with Enochian sigils. Elena Gilbert and Stefan Salvatore were being held by two demons each. Their wrists had been cut. Carol Lockwood was using the blood seeping out of them to draw further sigils on Sam's naked torso. The fifth demon trailed behind her, holding a tray laden with bowls and candles.

Dean signaled Damon to wait. As long as the angel was in the room, they wouldn't be able to do anything. It was up to Dean to send it away. The vampire nodded in understanding, shooing Dean with a hand.

Dean gave him the finger, pulled out the angel's sword he'd stolen from Raphael's minions and stepped forward. "Let go of my brother, bitch," he called out to the angel wearing Mrs. Lockwood's face.

Mrs. Lockwood turned around with that typical, bird-like abruptness that all angels seemed to have in common. "Finally, the last Winchester appears," she said. She glanced at the sword on Dean's hand and laughed. "Do you truly think that you can kill me with that toy, child? I'm Azriel. I existed long before my father allowed you to come down from the trees."

"I bet it sucked, seeing how daddy loved the baby apes so much more," Dean said in a sweet voice. "You should have helped your big brother with his rebellion; you'd be rotting in hell with him now."

Azriel snarled. She raised her hand and Dean screamed as his insides twisted with an unbearable pain. The bones of his arms and legs cracked. He fell to the ground, unable to support his own weight. An invisible force lifted him and flung him across the cellar. He crashed against the far wall. His head broke with the force of the impact. He slumped to the floor, dazed, and watched helplessly as Azriel closed in on him.

There was nothing human about the angel. Mrs. Lockwood's skin seemed like an ill-fitting suit that could barely contain Azriel inside. The air crackled with power. Dean felt as if his skin was about to burst open. He was familiar with the sensation; he'd felt it before whenever Michael came close to him.

"You'll regret your words, Winchester," Azriel said. "When Lucifer and Michael rise again, I'll take great pleasure watching Michael erase you from existence."

"Newsflash, Azriel," Dean coughed out with the last vestige of his strength. "That battle already took place. It lasted three seconds, and your side lost. Lucifer got his ass handed to him by my baby brother. No wonder God liked humans best. Angels are just a bunch of whiny losers." The great thing about Dean's many issues with his father was that he knew exactly what to say in order to twist the proverbial knife inside the angel's heart.

Azriel face twisted into a murderous grimace. She raised her hands once more. A bright glow of light shimmered around her face and body, her fury so great that she lost the grip on her vessel and started to revert to her true form.

The burning heat of the angel's power singed the hairs of Dean's skin. He gritted his teeth against the pain. The fear fueled his strength. Swallowing back a howl of anguish he ripped his shirt and jacket open, revealing the sigils that Damon had carved.

Azriel screamed as the power of the sigils forced it away from this realm of existence and back to Heaven.

"Now!" Dean yelled to Damon the moment the power of Azriel died away.

The last of his strength failed him and the world around Dean faded. The darkness of the Lockwood's' cellar and the smell of decay and putrid blood were too close to Dean's memories of hell. For a moment it was as if he had never left, as if his whole life afterwards, Castiel, Sam, Lisa, Ben, even Lucifer, were just figments of his imagination, something created by Dean's mind to protect him from the unbearable truth.

"Dean, watch out!" Sam screamed.

Dean opened his eyes in the last second and forced himself to snap back into focus, deep-ingrained reflexes making him follow Sam's warning despite pain and exhaustion. His reactions were too slow — raising his arm to kill the demon advancing on him seemed impossible.

Damon was engrossed in his own battle. The vampire thrust Ruby's knife into one demon's heart and slashed open the other's throat, before he rushed to Dean's rescue. The eye sockets and mouth of the demon crowding Dean flashed gold. The body of the host fell forward.

The last demon, realizing that it was outnumbered, turned around and opened its mouth. Black smoke started to pour out of the host. Damon dashed to him in a blur, stabbing the host repeatedly before the demon could finish its escape.

"Damon, no!" Elena Gilbert screamed. "That's Sarah!" She said in despair, but it was already too late. She babbled on, but Dean couldn't concentrate on her words, her voice going in and out of focus.

Dean tried to stand up, wanting to know how his own brother was doing. "Sam," he called. His voice sounded weak to his own ears. He gasped as a wave of dizziness and pain shot over him.

"Dean!" Sam called back, rattling the chains restraining him. "Salvatore, get these things off me," he ordered.

Damon ignored him. He freed Stefan and Elena first and checked that they were all right, before he rushed back to Dean.

Damon knelt in front of Dean and pushed Dean's shirt further up with more care than Dean would have ever gave him credit for. "Your blood smells wrong."

"Do I smell like a hamburger?" Dean asked in between gasping breaths, remembering the appetizing smell that human blood had had when Dean had been a vampire.

"Yeah, like a hamburger that has been lying around in the sun for five days and is only fit for flies and die-hard carrion birds," Damon said.

Dean chuckled. It came out as a weak coughing fit. The coppery flavor of blood filled his mouth. Dean tried to swallow it down, but his throat refused to work. The blood spilled over, trailing down the corners of his lips.

Damon shook Dean, trying to keep him awake and catch his attention. "Where are you hurt?" Damon's voice seemed so far away.

Concentrating was hard. Dean tried to listen to his body, see what hurt, but he couldn't feel anything. Even the pain on his chest, which had been a constant companion since Damon carved the sigils into his skin, had faded away.

"Nothing hurts," Dean said, letting his eyes drop. A part of him knew that absence of pain wasn't necessarily a good thing, but Dean was too tired to care. He just wanted to sleep for a while.

"Dean, Dean, stay with me," Sam called to him, sounding miserable.

The fear in Sam's voice warmed Dean. He wanted his brother to _feel_ something, even if it was despair. Dean dreaded the possibility that Sam had somehow lost his humanity in hell, or that maybe, being Lucifer's vessel had irreversibly destroyed something in Sam.

Sam's anguish, the panic in his voice just because Dean might be dying, proved that at least something of the old Sam remained. Dean just needed to find it.

The Salvatores were talking, but Dean couldn't follow their conversation. Only Sam's voice had the power to penetrate the fog clouding Dean's mind.

"All right, do it," Sam said, and Dean cringed. Sam's tone had once more gained the dark, hard edge, devoid of emotion that Dean so despised. It was the voice of the Sam who didn't hesitate to use an innocent child as bait, the one who stood still while Dean's neighbors were slaughtered.

"Dean, drink," Sam ordered, using the same tone.

Something warm and wet pressed against Dean's lips. Dean's eyes fluttered. He could barely made out Damon's worried face, hovering over him. Sam sat behind Dean, supporting most of his weight and holding him still.

It took Dean an instant to realize that Damon was prying his mouth open with one hand and pressing his bleeding wrist over Dean's mouth with the other. Thick blood trickled from the open cut onto Dean's tongue. Dean tried to move away, to bend his head aside, but Sam's hold on him was too strong.

"Dean, stop fighting and drink." The edge of command on Sam's voice reminded Dean of John Winchester. Dean had been conditioned by years of training to obey that tone first and ask questions later. He swallowed.

"That's it," Damon said, doing something to increase the speed of the blood flow.

Dean drank.

The numbness on his limbs disappeared slowly, and the pain came back. Dean's chest ached; his stomach and intestines burned as something inside him twisted, rearranging itself. Damon's forearm, still pressed to Dean's mouth, muffled Dean's agonizing screams as awareness returned and the bones of his arms and legs knitted together.

A sudden, savage thirst filled Dean. This wasn't like the time the vampire on the alley had turned him. The taste of Damon's blood was almost addictive. Dean didn't know how to describe it. If somebody had asked, he would have said that it tasted like life. He grabbed Damon's arm and sucked. He regained his strength and freed himself from Sam's hold. However, he didn't try to escape; he pulled Damon closer instead and bit down on the vampire's wrist, craving more blood.

It took Dean's mind a while to clear completely. All at once, Dean became aware of where he was and what he was doing. The magnitude of what he'd just done hit him like a physical blow.

He shoved Damon away, jerking back from him. He pushed Sam back and stood up, picking up the angelic sword. He pressed his back against the wall, thankful for the cover it gave him, and kept the sword between his body and everybody else.

With his free hand he scrubbed clean the blood on his mouth and spat, marginally aware that he was smearing it even more. "Get the fuck away from me, Sam!" He seethed with uncontrollable fury. He feared that if Sam came any closer Dean might actually kill him.

"You were dying, Dean," Sam said pleadingly. "It was the only way to save you."

"By turning me into a vampire? Again! How is that saving?"

"It doesn't work like that." Damon snorted, shaking his head. "The blood just heals you. You have to die with vampire blood in your system before you turn. Even then, you won't turn unless you drink human blood first. How come you don't know these things? Did you skip that class at Hunter school?"

Dean paused, digesting that piece of information. He looked at Sam for confirmation, and his brother nodded. "They're different from the vampires we've encountered before," Sam said.

Dean knew that. He'd known it the moment he saw Damon transform for the first time. Damon could walk during the day for fuck's sake. "You are sure I won't turn?" Dean asked Damon, surprised to realize that for this he was willing to trust the vampire more than he was willing to trust his own brother.

Damon gave Dean a flashing smile. "As long as you stay alive over the next twenty-four hours you'll be all right."

Dean glanced at Stefan for confirmation. The younger vampire nodded.

"You don't believe me?" Damon asked with fake outrage.

"No, I don't," Dean said.

"You wound me, Dean. After all we've been through together," Damon mocked him.

"Don't worry, Dean. We just need to make sure that you don't die." Sam tried to placate him.

Dean ignored him. It pained Dean to admit it, but Sam was the one he trusted least in this constellation. "Make sure I don't become one of you, Damon," Dean said to the elder Salvatore. "If I do, you better kill me for good before I turn, because you have my word as Winchester that if I become a vampire, the first thing I will do is drive a wooden stake through your heart."

Stefan tensed, shifting closer to his brother. Dean made a mental note to watch out for him.

Damon laughed out loud. "Believe me, hunter. You'd be dead for real before you could even finish the thought."

Sam scowled, leveling a cold, assessing stare at Damon. Obviously, Damon wasn't the only one with an overprotective kid brother.

"Everybody calm down, please," Elena Gilbert said. "Nobody is dying or killing anybody any time soon. Now, could you stop the testosterone-fueled posturing and help me clean up? Please," she added in an after thought.

"Elena is right," Damon said and winked at Elena. "We'll dump the bodies on the forest."

"No," Dean and Sam said at the same time. "We'll burn them."

The cleanup went faster than Dean expected. Having two vampires working with them sped up the process. Unlike to Castiel, neither Stefan nor Damon had any qualms about using their supernatural powers to help carry dead bodies.

* * *

The Salvatores and Elena took the still unconscious Bonnie to the hospital. Sam, for his part, disappeared to talk with their grandfather as soon as they were back in town, claiming that he needed to tell him about the ritual Azriel had tried.

Dean let the lie stand. He didn't want to fight with Sam. More than that, though, he was looking forward to having some time to himself. Being in the same room with Sam made Dean's skin crawl. Dean wanted, needed, to know the truth about Sam, but as long as he didn't know how to get it, he preferred Sam to be far away from him.

Dean jumped into the shower as soon as he arrived at the motel. The warm water felt great, washing away the gore and dried blood on his skin. He felt fantastic, alive, in a way he hadn't in a long, long time. It was the vampire blood still coursing through his system, screwing with his perception like a drug. Dean didn't care. Was that how Sam felt when he drank demon blood? For the first time ever Dean understood how someone could become addicted to it.

He opened his lips under the shower stream, letting the water fill his mouth and throat and spill over, until the faintest traces of the treasonous taste had been washed away. He scrubbed the scabs of dried blood off his chest, marveling at the unmarred skin underneath. There were no scars left where the knife had carved the Enochian sigils.

Dean turned off the water after his fingers started to prune. He tugged back the curtain and toweled himself dry, before stepping out of the shower. He dropped the towel on the floor and padded to the bedroom, naked, in search of some clean clothes.

Someone whistled in admiration, making Dean jolt with surprise.

Damon was leaning against the far wall of the room, next to the closed window, as if he didn't have a care in the world. The corners of his lips curved up lazily, as his eyes traveled up and down Dean's naked body.

"What are you doing here?" Dean tried to keep his voice neutral, not wanting to give Damon the satisfaction of seeing Dean rattled. "How did you get in?"

"It's a motel room," Damon shrugged. "In a supernatural sense they don't belong to anyone. Vampires can come in and out uninvited."

"I know that," Dean snapped. He wanted the vampire gone.

"Then why ask?" Damon arched an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?" Dean repeated his question, an edge of anger coloring his tone.

"What does it look that I'm doing?" Damon ogled Dean's body deliberately, lingering on Dean's crotch for an instant, before he raised his eyes to meet Dean's, a dark, hungry expression heating his gaze.

Dean was all too aware that his weapons were on the other side of the room. The knife that he always carried with him was still in the bathroom. It was the kind of rookie mistake that Dean hadn't made in years. It showed that despite all, he wasn't still fully back in the game. He forced himself to remain nonchalant, meeting Damon's eyes with indifference. "Right now it looks as if you're checking me out," he said levelly.

"Think highly of yourself, don't you?" Damon mocked him.

"Well, enlighten me then. _Why_ are you here?" Dean suppressed a snarl. The hell with it! He walked to his bed and rummaged around in his duffle bag searching for clean underwear.

"I came here to make sure that you don't die in the next twenty-four hours," Damon said. "You never know what can happen. I don't want a crazy hunter coming after me, so I said to myself, Damon, better safe than sorry. Go keep an eye on Dean. And here I am, keeping an eye on you." He bowed to Dean with a little flourish.

"I don't need a baby-sitter." Dean picked up the hunting knife hiding at the bottom of his duffle bag. "Get out," he told the vampire, pointing the knife at him threateningly.

Damon tilted his head. Then, without any warning, he attacked. Before Dean could so much as react, the vampire had thrown Dean against the floor, using his superior strength to keep Dean pinned.

Damon crushed Dean's wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. "It looks to me as if you do need protection. You never know when a vampire could come by and attack you," Damon said. His cold breath tickled over Dean's face.

A shiver ran down Dean's spine. He forced his muscles to relax. "If you said so," Dean said with a blank smile. Without warning, he head-butted Damon with all the force he could muster and used the momentum to twist away from under Damon and grab the knife back.

"You can't stop me with a knife and you know it," Damon said, edging closer. He jumped back when Dean tried to cut him.

"Very few supernatural creatures survive a beheading," Dean pointed out. "Vampires are no exceptions."

Damon laughed out loud. "You think you can cut my head off with that butter knife?"

"Believe me, I've done it before to stronger and more dangerous monsters." Dean smirked, feeling safer with a weapon between him and Damon.

Damon stepped back, raising his palms in a gesture of peace. "Fine, you win."

"I always do." Dean gave him his best come-hither look, the desire to fight it out for good with the vampire rising.

Damon licked his lips. "You don't stand a chance, hunter."

"You said that before. Yet here I am, holding the knife, and you aren't," Dean pointed out.

"All right, if you want me to bang you around that badly, I'm more than happy to oblige." Damon charged him.

Dean twisted around and drove the blade forward, letting well-honed instincts guide him. Damon grunted with pain but didn't slow down. The vampire's body hit Dean's, sending him reeling. Dean tried to regain his footing, but Damon was already there. The vampire struck Dean, knocking the breath out of him. Damon twisted Dean's arm in brutal grip and turned him around, immobilizing him.

It was over in a matter of seconds. By the time Dean's head had stopped spinning, Damon had taken control of the knife. "You were saying?" The vampire said with a grin.

Dean snorted and went limp under Damon. If the vampire wanted him dead, Dean would have been dead by now. That in itself was assurance enough. "Fine, I take it back; you won this one," he admitted grudgingly. "Now let me go."

"Oh, but I like you where you are," Damon whispered into Dean's ear.

"Too bad." Dean tried to push him off, but it was like attempting to move a concrete wall.

Damon moved even closer to Dean until the puffs of his breath caressed the side of Dean's neck. He nuzzled Dean's jaw. "You don't smell as if you want me to let go."

A spark of desire shot through Dean. He'd always liked self-confidence in potential partners; it was one his major kinks. Dean loved women who knew what they wanted, how and with whom, and were not afraid to say it. It was the same way with men, even if Dean was better at controlling his desire to act on it.

He is a vampire, Dean reminded himself sternly. "I'm _not_ interested." Dean struggled against Damon's hold, suddenly terribly aware that Damon was fully clad while Dean wasn't. His treacherous pulse throbbed with fear or anticipation; Dean couldn't tell which.

Damon pulled Dean closer, hardening his hold, and thrust up his hips against Dean's ass.

"Stop that," Dean snarled, more angry at his own reactions than at the vampire.

"Why? You don't want me to." Damon nipped at Dean's throat, his fangs gracing lightly over Dean's pulsing carotid.

Real fear sparked through Dean, and he struggled in earnest. "Let go of me, damn it!"

"All right, all right," Damon said, releasing Dean and stepping back with a chuckle. "Your loss," the vampire said. With smooth grace he walked to Dean's bed and sprawled on it, crossing his hands behind his nape of his neck and watching Dean with open curiosity. It reminded Dean of a lazy cat contemplating a troublesome mouse, torn between lethargy and instinct.

 _Vampire,_ Dean reminded himself. _Damon is vampire._ Unbidden, the memories of Dean's brief hours as one of the undead assaulted him. It was enough to eradicate the desire still lingering in his body. He still remembered Lisa's fear and Ben's shock when Dean had shoved him away in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the burning hunger consuming him, telling him to kill.

Dean concentrated on that memory. He needed to remember what was a stake here. A glance at Damon showed him that the vampire hadn't moved. His hungry stare followed Dean across the room as he threw on a pair of jeans and an old, wrinkled t-shirt.

"Feeling better now?" Damon asked, when Dean had finished dressing.

"I'd feel even better if you were gone," Dean said.

"Are you sure that you don't want to give it a try? It'd be fun. I'll even let you top." Damon's lips curled playfully as he spread his legs wider.

Dean rolled his eyes at the blatant offer. "Yes, I'm quite sure."

"Want to take a rain check?" Damon offered.

"Thanks, but no thanks. What do you really want?"

"I told you; I'm just making sure that you don't die and come back as a vampire."

"And I believe you. Not."

Damon sighed. "Fine, if you must know, Stefan and Elena are having sex all over the house. Okay, they are in Stefan's room," Damon amended. "Supernatural hearing here." He pointed in the general direction of his ears. "They might as well be having sex all over the house for the difference it makes. Usually I don't mind, I even jerk off to it, but today I wasn't in the mood."

"Way more information that I ever wanted," Dean said.

"What, like you've never jerked off to your little brother having sex with some one else."

Dean couldn't say that he had. For the most part Sam's conquests were few and far in between, and when he did bother to hook up with someone, he did his best to keep them away from Dean. It was one of the reasons why it had taken Dean so long to figure out what was going on between his brother and Ruby. He pushed that thought down. It wasn't something he liked to dwell on.

"Please spare me your dirty fantasies." He wasn't going to call the vampire on his bullshit. "Go bother somebody else."

"I could, but the others will still be here long after you're gone." Damon shrugged. "I want to make the best of our little acquaintance. I didn't know hunters could be so much fun." Damon tensed, and he stood up from the bed. "Company's coming."

Dean tucked his gun under the back of his shirt and gave the room a quick once-over, mentally checking where all hidden weapons were.

"Relax," Damon said. "It's just Sam and Stefan. It seems that the sex is over." He checked his watch. "I could do so much better. Elena doesn't know what she's missing." He winked at Dean. "And neither do you."

Dean shook his head. Damon didn't let up. Some of the tension melted away from Dean's shoulders, but he didn't quite relax until the door opened, revealing Sam and the younger Salvatore.

"What's he doing here?" Sam asked, eying Damon suspiciously.

Something about Sam's tone rubbed Dean wrong. "I invited him," he lied, not knowing why. "What's Stefan doing with you?" Dean didn't trust his brother around vampires. Sam was too invested into capturing an alpha, and Dean didn't know what deals this new Sam might have been willing to make to achieve his ends.

Stefan smiled at Dean tentatively. Sam used a similar smile, when he wanted to hide how dangerous he truly was. Dean knew not to trust that expression.

"Sam was telling me how to recognize demons and get rid of them," Stefan said.

"Don't worry, Stefan. I already know how to do that. I've learned a lot from Dean," Damon said. "Whenever you get tired of the quiet, boring life in Mystic Falls, we can hit the road together and become hunters. Wouldn't that be great? You and me together, traveling around the country, killing to our heart's content."

"Hunting is about saving people," Dean told Damon, but he was looking at Sam when he said it, wanting to see his brother's reaction.

"Well, yes, of course, but you kill a bunch of things along the way, too. Right?" Damon asked.

"Yes, we do," Sam said. His lips curved into that tiny anticipatory smirk that Dean was learning to fear.

"Evil things," Dean clarified, "like vampires, or demons, or rogue angels." His eyes didn't leave Sam.

"Well, that's all right then," Damon said, clasping his hands together. "I've offed my good share of vampires already, and so has Stefan. I even branched out to include werewolves and as of late demons. I'm well-qualified for the job."

Stefan sighed. "Except for the part when you don't care one bit about saving anyone's life."

"You wound me, Stefan," Damon scoffed. "How many times have I saved you and Elena?" He said to Dean, "See, this is the thanks I get. Anyway, Stefan, if you don't trust me with saving people, we can specialize: you do the saving; I'll do the killing. After all, division of labor is the key to efficiency and progress. Why should the hunting business be any different?"

Stefan didn't bother to answer. He addressed Dean instead. "Thank you, for everything. If you ever need us, you know how to contact me."

"Stefan, you are absolutely no fun," Damon said. "Fine, we're leaving. Dean, if you ever change your mind about my offer, you know where to find me."

"What offer?" Sam asked.

"Nothing, just Damon being Damon," Dean hurried to say, glaring at the vampire.

Damon winked at Dean and sauntered away, dragging Stefan out with him.

Dean closed the door as soon as the two vampires were out and sighed in relief.

"What was that about?" Sam asked, watching Dean suspiciously.

Dean's face flushed and he looked away. "Nothing, I told you, just Damon being Damon."

Sam looked between the closed door and Dean for a moment, as if trying to decipher what had really happened before he arrived.

"Did they know anything about an alpha?" Dean asked, changing the subject.

"Stefan didn't," Sam said. "The vampire who turned them abandoned them before they finished transforming. They aren't really well connected with other vampires. Besides, they belong to a different vampire race. I don't know if they even have an alpha. I'll have Samuel look into that."

"Sure, do that." Dean tensed at the mention of their grandfather.

"Dean, are you all right?" Sam asked, watching him with an odd expression.

"Sure, why shouldn't I be all right?" Dean said with a strained grin. "Let's hit the road. The more distance between me and vampires, the better."

"You don't need to worry, Dean," Sam said. "I've got your back."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean said.

That was the problem.

 

El FIN

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written as a gift for **janie_tangerine** for the crossover exchange fest at the community xover_exchange.livejournal.com


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